


Homecoming

by softestpunk



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eivor does keep calling Sigurd "brother" like it's a hymn, I mean they're definitely not related but, I'm not kidding there's no plot only smut, Kinda?, M/M, PWP, Sibling Incest, transmasc!Eivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Building a new life in England keeps Eivor and Sigurd apart, but absence only makes their homecoming all the sweeter.(No really this is just smut and banter, no spoilers for AC: Valhalla, I don't think this fits in the game timeline at all, I haven't finished it yet)
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 173





	Homecoming

“Valka said you were in here sleeping one of her potions off,” Sigurd boomed as he stepped into Eivor’s bedroom in the longhouse.

Eivor laughed delightedly at the sight of him, happiness welling up in his heart to see Sigurd home safe. He’d been gone too long.

“You’ve been gone too long,” Eivor said aloud without meaning to, his tongue still slack from the tea Valka had given him.

That was all right, though. He had no secrets from Sigurd.

“Have I?” Sigurd asked, leaning against the frame of the door, casually, arms folded across his chest and a smirk turning up one corner of his lips.

Eivor grunted, pushing the furs he’d been snuggled under subtly away in response to an unexpected flush of heat.

“You are _always_ away too long,” Eivor complained, petulant even to his own ears.

Where _was_ that silver tongue when he needed it?

Sigurd snorted, pushing away from the door, kicking his boots off, and then collapsing onto the bed beside Eivor like he owned it.

He’d always done that. Sigurd had never been overly concerned with finding the right bed when he wanted to lie down. Even if the one he found was occupied.

“You missed me, little wolf,” Sigurd said, and Eivor didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning up at the ceiling. He could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he relaxed.

But he turned anyway, because Sigurd was right. Eivor _had_ missed him.

He’d thought that in this new, strange land, they’d have more time together. That was what they were working toward, of course it was, but the work was hard, and long, and frustrating when it kept them apart.

“Everyone missed you,” Eivor said.

“Am I allowed to say that I did not miss everyone equally?” Sigurd asked as Eivor flopped onto his back as well, daring to stretch out a hand that brushed against Sigurd’s arm.

“Dag will be very disappointed.”

Sigurd snorted again, and the sound went straight to Eivor’s heart to increase his happiness.

“Sometimes I think Dag would like to be where you are now,” Sigurd said.

“In a comfortable bed in the longhouse? I imagine he would.”

“In bed with me,” Sigurd said, letting his head fall to the side to look at Eivor.

Eivor wrinkled his nose.

Sigurd laughed now, not the constrained snort of before, but a sound that filled Eivor up and threatened to make him burst.

“I am no more eager to see this come to pass than you,” Sigurd assured. “He envies you, though.”

“I have many enviable qualities,” Eivor said, stretching out on the bed, another flush of heat making him squirm.

The come-down from one of Valka’s vision-inducing concoctions was always like this for him.

Perhaps Thor had kindly provided a wind to bring Sigurd back at just the right moment, a farewell gift from the realm of the gods at the behest of his father, who had apparently taken a shine to Eivor.

“Your humility, for example,” Sigurd teased.

“I was thinking my brains, my breathtaking handsomeness, my skill in battle...”

Sigurd laughed again, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one arm, leaning over Eivor and making his skin prickle with heat under his gaze.

“All enviable qualities.” Sigurd nodded seriously. “To say nothing of your modesty.”

“Would you have me modest and humble?” Eivor asked.

Sigurd shook his head. “I would have you exactly as you are. Boastful and bold and brave and brilliant and beautiful.”

 _And beautiful_.

Eivor swallowed.

Sigurd had not talked to him like this since they were young, since before he left to see the world.

“Would you have me?” Eivor asked, making use of that boldness Sigurd accused him of having.

Sigurd broke into a smile that sent a rush of that all-consuming heat still licking at Eivor’s flesh southward, pooling low in his belly.

Sigurd reached out, rough fingers skimming the soft skin of Eivor’s exposed belly, all the feeling in his body rushing to where their flesh was pressed together.

He could never tire of Sigurd’s touch. No one else had even come close.

Nor would he tire of the taste of Sigurd’s mouth, salty and with a hint of mead and something under it, something sweeter that he knew was just Sigurd. He had tasted the mouths of other vikingr and they too tasted of salt and mead, but never of _Sigurd,_ and he had ached at missing that taste.

But not anymore, not as Sigurd’s mouth closed over his in all its glorious warmth and salt-sweetness, gut-clenchingly familiar.

“I knew you’d need me,” Sigurd whispered against his mouth. “Valka doesn’t know the gift she gives me when she does this to you.”

 _Ah_ , so that was it. That was why Sigurd had come to him after all this time.

Valka didn’t know the gift she gave Eivor, then, either.

Although it would not have surprised him to learn that she knew a great deal more than she let on.

“I do need you,” Eivor said, which was not a lie, because he always needed Sigurd.

“Shh,” Sigurd murmured. “I promise you I’ll listen to you talk for as long as you want later.”

Eivor laughed. “A risky offer.”

“No risk,” Sigurd said. “Only reward. I have missed the sound of your voice,” he added. “I want to hear my name in it.”

Another round of laughter drowned out by joined mouths and happy moans as Sigurd’s armour fell away, tossed aside carelessly until Eivor could splay his fingers over familiar warm skin, trace the shapes of fading tattoos. Touch and tease and hold for as long as he wanted, indulging in this pocket of time carved out just for the two of them.

Eivor squeaked into Sigurd’s mouth as strong, confident fingers plunged between his thighs, stars bursting behind his eyelids at the sudden surge of pleasure, crashing like a rolling wave over the deck of a longship.

Sigurd smiled against his jaw, setting his teeth there for a playful nip, then another on his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his ribs, the sensitive flesh below his navel that only Sigurd knew about. Then lower still as Eivor’s fingers tangled greedily in his russet braids, catching on a bead and tightening as Sigurd’s tongue replaced his fingers.

Sigurd was not a man given to poetry, but his tongue was devilishly clever in other ways. Hot and confident, relentless as the rest of him was, strong and sure and everything Eivor had dreamed of while they were apart.

No one else was ever like this. No one else ever could be.

“Sigurd,” Eivor gasped, wanting to give him what he’d asked for, the sound of his name passing Eivor’s lips.

The sweetest sound in the world, he’d called it once. When they had been young, and innocent, and loved each other with the kind of ease only children could.

Eivor had held those moments close to his chest, afraid there would never be more of them.

But now he could let go, and enjoy _this_ moment, and think with joy on the ones that were yet to come.

“Again,” Sigurd murmured against him, the barest pause only serving to make Eivor’s belly tight with need, the heat and pressure of Sigurd’s mouth pushing and pushing him toward the edge.

“Sigurd,” Eivor repeated, voice broken now. Sigurd lunged forward again, a needy moan vibrating against Eivor’s most sensitive places as he spent himself in Sigurd’s mouth with a shuddering sob.

Sigurd eased him through it, tongue slow, lips soft. A gift, Eivor though, to feel Sigurd like this, as gentle as spring rain on these new green fields. Not many had ever been allowed to have this part of him, this warm down-feather core.

More kisses as Eivor panted his recovery, squirming all over as Sigurd traced his path back up. Moaning as he offered another kiss, careless and needy, tongue delving deep into Eivor’s mouth so he could taste himself on it even as Sigurd slid inside his body. Simple comfort where there might have been stretch and burn without his careful attention first.

Eivor sighed with relief and happiness as Sigurd’s forehead came to rest against his own. The two of them rocked together, murmuring promises and wishes and things they would never dare say any louder, things that were only for each other’s ears.

The bed creaked under them, and the fire crackled in the hall outside, and a passing storm poured down on the roof of the longhouse.

A choked gasp signalled Sigurd’s peak, a hot rush and firm thrust that sent another spike of pleasure coursing through Eivor’s body, sending him tumbling over the edge with Sigurd, breathless and exhausted.

The world dropped away, and all that was left was the two of them, glowing bright where they were joined, breathing life back into one another.

“Better?” Sigurd asked, flopping down beside Eivor again.

“Much,” Eivor agreed. “Thank you,” he added, tugging a fur over both of them to combat the cooling sweat on their skin.

“Anytime,” Sigurd said, smiling a lazy smile. “Was your vision worth the trouble?”

Eivor chuckled. “It would have been worth it if I’d seen nothing at all,” he said. “I’m not so sure this isn’t part of it. The gods simply showing me exactly what I wanted. What I’ve wanted for so long.”

“I like the thought of being in your dreams,” Sigurd said.

“You are always in my dreams,” Eivor confessed.

“And you in mine,” Sigurd said, rolling over to press one last kiss to Eivor’s lips before he stood, gathering clothing. “Get some rest, Eivor. And then I’ll listen to all your stories.”

“All of them?” Eivor asked, grinning up at Sigurd. He had so much to say, they could have talked from now to Ragnarok and not gotten through the half of it.

“I reserve the right to put your mouth to better use if you go on too long,” Sigurd teased. “Now rest. I’ll see you again when I’ve attended to all my other duties.”

Of course Sigurd had other things to attend to.

But he had attended to Eivor first.


End file.
